


This Soul, it's All Fired Up

by LikeSatellites



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, K-pop
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breathplay, I'm Sorry, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Spanking, didn't we all know that, he's also dorky, i can't write functional relationships, yeah so Changmin is kinda scary but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2097768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeSatellites/pseuds/LikeSatellites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He isn’t sure how these loonies manage to get front row seats each concert (maybe they donate blood to blood banks or shank rich old couples in abandoned alleys?), but they’re always there.</p><p>“YunJae 4Ever,” “Always Keep the YunJae Faith,” “Yunho, JaeJoong Still Loves You!” the banners read in bright red, dripping paint, like the rabid fangirls had painted them with the blood of sacrificed JaeChun shippers.</p><p>Changmin is livid. It's a cruel, silly sort of joke, to imagine Yunho belonging to anyone else. </p><p>If only they knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Soul, it's All Fired Up

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the baes. I wish I owned the baes. But then that would be slavery. Which is very bad. Very bad, indeed. 
> 
> I don't know how to write fluff, so here is angst smut. -skitters away to hide-  
> Also plz leave comments and kudos I love you I'ms orry

           Every concert Changmin sees them.

       Even through the migraine-inducing glare of the stage lights, he easily makes out the distinct lettering of the banners in the front three rows. He isn’t sure how these loonies manage to get front row seats each concert (maybe they donate blood to blood banks or shank rich old couples in abandoned alleys?), but they’re always there.

       “YunJae 4Ever,” “Always Keep the YunJae Faith,” “Yunho, JaeJoong Still Loves You!” the banners read in bright red, dripping paint, like the rabid fangirls had painted them with the blood of sacrificed JaeChun shippers.

       Yunho always gives a little gruff, uncomfortable chuckle when he spots them, though Changmin tends to respond to Yunho’s amiable smile with a very vehement ass slap as they stride off stage to change outfits. The cordi-noonas often stare with perplexity at the redness of Yunho’s ass until Changmin shoos them away and bids them to fetch his leather jacket from the racks.

       There’s this one particular night, though, when the fans begin yelling things at Yunho. Things about Jae, things about their “love,” things about how his supposed “too-intimate-to-be-brotherly” relationship with Changmin goes against everything they believe about “love.” Changmin’s insides heat up with rage to the point where he thinks his sweat might’ve evaporated into steam, creating a mystical dry-ice effect around him during their performance of “Maximum.”

       Yunho backstage doesn’t mention the fan-chant, but Changmin senses a kind of nervousness around him that Yunho only gets when he can feel the waves of frustration radiating from Changmin’s clenched jaw and half-lidded eyes.

       “You know I don’t take them seriously, Minnie,” Yunho offers as they’re keying open the door to their shared hotel room with the keycard. Yunho is about to toss the keycard onto the floor by the door when Changmin grabs his wrist and holds it in place.

       “Don’t make a mess, hyung,” he says, teeth gritted tightly in a false smile, his right eye wonky and squinted.  

       “I didn’t, I—”

       Even though Changmin often pulls these moves on Yunho (usually after the adrenaline rush of a long concert), Yunho still shows the same nervous apprehension in the twitch of his left eye and the almost-unnoticeable (if you aren’t Changmin) tensing of his forearm muscles.  

       “Minnie, Changmin-ah…” Yunho breathes, air shaking out from between his lips, a sheen of saliva lingering on top of his plump bottom lip. “You know they’re just silly fans…with fantasies, and none of it matters to me—”

       “Uh huh,” Changmin utters, pulling off his coat and hanging it up on the hook neatly. He reaches out and grabs the collar of Yunho’s coat, fingering the loose threads. “Why is everything you own all ragged and messy? What are you, some kinda lazy ahjussi?”

       Yunho is about to reply when Changmin tears his coat off his shoulders and down his arms and hangs it over his own on the hook.

Changmin’s fingers find the tears in Yunho’s thick knitted green sweater, and his lips shift into a crooked smile.

       “As if you could belong to anyone else,” Changmin mutters, eyes narrowed and vacant. “To Jaejoong hyung or…anyone. No one. No one.”

       “Min….Minnie…” Yunho says, lifting a hand to cup Changmin’s cheek, but it’s as if Changmin can’t even feel it or sense it because he doesn’t react. His eyes remain distant and unfocused as Yunho’s thumb ghosts over his high cheekbone and down the side of his face to his jaw. “Look at me, Changmin.”

       Changmin shakes his head, fingers curling into his palms to form hard-knuckled fists, and he keeps shaking his head as he thumps his fists against Yunho’s chest.

       “No one,” he repeats, eyes lifting to meet Yunho’s. “No one can have you. No one can even dream of having you. No one can think of you being with anyone but me. Why the fuck would you smile at them, Yunho? Those girls who…who…do you know what they say about me? What they say about you sometimes? They don’t…they don’t understand…”

       Yunho moves to grip Changmin’s wrists, but Changmin jerks out of his hold and grips his hands around Yunho’s neck, walking him back against the wall. His fingers tighten around the base of Yunho’s throat, squeezing. Yunho’s cheeks fill with color, eyes wide and apprehensive as they lock on Changmin’s.

       “They don’t understand, Yunho. That you’re mine. Mine in every way that a person can belong to someone else. I want them to know. I want everyone to know. But you’re so worried about my image. Your image. Our image. Well, I don’t care anymore. I’ve never cared. I’ll say what I want to the fans. I’ll do what I want. And what I want is for you…” His hands tighten around Yunho’s neck as his knee slides up between Yunho’s legs and presses. Yunho’s eyelids flutter, his cheeks flaming hot. “For you to want and need me as much as I need you. Wouldn’t it bother you if fans chanted things about me and Yoochun hyung? Or…or Kyuhyun? Nothing ever shatters that façade of yours, Yunho, and it isn’t fair that I’m the only one who—”

       “Nnn,” Yunho wheezes, face turning purple as Changmin’s knee brushes over the front of his jeans. “Not.”

       Changmin releases Yunho’s throat, and Yunho draws in a long, deep breath, shuddering air into his lungs before bursting out with an exclamation of, “Not the only one.”

       “What?” Changmin’s eyes go wide. “Not the only one what?”

       “Not the only one who cares, Changminnie,” Yunho says, voice raspy from Changmin’s hold, with perfect fingerprint bruises in his skin (though Changmin would think any part of Yunho’s body is perfect, especially if put there by his own hands). “Not the only one who needs.”

       Changmin is having a hard time listening, honestly, as his eyes wander down to Yunho’s erection and then back up to his flushed cheeks.

       “You need me?” Changmin repeats, finally making sense of Yunho’s words. He steps forward again, hands moving to Yunho’s hips, grasping tightly, hard, pressing, pushing, pinching.

Yunho gasps softly, chest hitching.

“Prove it.”

       “I’ll do anything,” Yunho pleads. “Anything, Changmin. I’ve always been on your side. Always here with y—”

       Changmin doesn’t let him finish. He wheels Yunho around and thrusts him hard against the wall, Yunho’s chest hitting it so hard the air whooshes from his lungs again (though he must be used to it by this time). Yunho cranes his neck to the side, as if trying to get a glimpse of Changmin’s face, though he knows the feat is impossible in his current position.

Changmin presses himself against Yunho’s back and takes Yunho’s earlobe between his teeth, growling low, “Let me put marks on you, Yunho. Let me finally. So people can see.”

       Yunho tries to shake his head, with Changmin’s teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh of his ear, causing him to whine deep in his throat. Changmin’s mouth begins moving downward, nipping, sucking, kissing over the back of Yunho’s jaw to his neck, right over the finger indent bruises. Yunho moans, and it’s the most beautiful sound Changmin can imagine, more beautiful than any track he could dream of composing, more beautiful than the sound of five voices in harmony.

This is what Changmin needs—Yunho’s voice and smiles and body just for him.

       His fingers bend into the waistband of Yunho’s jeans with one hand, the other hand roaming over Yunho’s ass through the denim.

       “You know, hyung, I don’t think these rooms are soundproof like our rooms at home…” Changmin says, his triumphant grin practically audible in the snide way he speaks with his lips against the back of Yunho’s neck.

       Changmin rips Yunho’s jeans down to his knees, letting the weight of the denim carry them down to his ankles as his hands slide over the bare skin of Yunho’s ass (since Yunho has something against boxers, which Changmin doesn’t blame him for, honestly). His fingers knead the soft flesh for a few seconds before he pulls his arm back and aims a slap right at one of the slightly-tanned cheeks.

       Yunho’s hands scramble over the wall as his back arches, and he whines. “Min…Changmin...”

       Changmin, now high on the power of holding Yunho this way, spanks him again, a few times in a row, letting the room fill with the sequential sounds of skin against skin, followed by Yunho’s progressively louder moans and whimpers. After a few moments, Changmin sinks to the floor behind Yunho, fingers tracing the red, heated skin of Yunho’s ass.

       “God, you’re beautiful like this,” Changmin breathes, fingers spreading Yunho’s ass, letting the air ghost over it. He presses a line of kisses over the hot skin, moving inward until his tongue finds Yunho’s entrance. Yunho arches more, pressing back against Changmin’s mouth as he pants heavily, chest heaving with labored breaths to contain his sounds.

       Changmin pulls back and spanks him again, and Yunho gasps sharply.

       “Don’t you dare. Those sounds are mine. Every moan and pant and…all of it. It’s all mine, so don’t you dare.” Changmin’s teeth nip into the back of Yunho’s thigh, just under the curve of his ass, and Yunho tries to crane his neck again as he cries out.

       “More, Min, please.”

       Changmin’s gaze flicks up to Yunho’s face, and he gives a curt nod. As he rises up, his knees crack (damn, that choreography gets more and more arduous, and Changmin kind of misses all the ballads). He grips Yunho’s hair and tugs him towards the bedroom, and he glances back to watch the way Yunho’s eyes roll in pleasure.

       Changmin throws Yunho towards the bed, and he ends up sprawled out on his stomach, arms and legs spread. He’d lost his jeans somewhere in the hallway, and the red skin of his ass was lifted high in the air.

       “Minnie…Changmin….” he chants over and over.

       Changmin practically rips his own jeans off, staggering towards the bed with his boxers trapped at his ankles. He kicks them across the room until they land on top of the lampshade. He scrambles up on to the mattress as he pulls his shirt and undershirt off, grabbing Yunho’s hands and binding them together with his undershirt before tying one of the sleeves of his button down through the binding of the undershirt. He wraps the shirt around the headboard and ties it tightly there until Yunho’s arms are hovering a few inches over the mattress in the restraint.

       Yunho tugs on the shirt lightly, but Changmin knows he doesn’t really want to escape. His hips wriggle and shake in front of Changmin, and Changmin gives Yunho a few more spanks until he’s writhing and rutting against the sheets.

       Changmin leans over his body and pushes up the back of his sweater, so he can kiss down the notches of Yunho’s spine. Yunho may be self conscious of his front (for reasons Changmin cannot fathom, since he loves every single inch of Yunho’s body, especially the ones he can bite down harder on), but Changmin knows Yunho loves when he worships his muscle and flesh with lips and teeth and tongue. So Changmin takes his time kissing down Yunho’s back, following the upward bend to his lifted tailbone. Changmin sucks dark bruises over the dimples in Yunho’s lower back, as his fingers trace up the backs of Yunho’s thighs.

       “Beg for me, Yunho. Beg for me to—”

       “Changmin,” Yunho whispers, voice still raspy and thick with lust and need.

       Changmin’s resolve to tease and torture pretty much shatters with that one soft sound. Just his name, spoken so lovingly and delicately as if it might break if Yunho holds it in too long or speaks it too loudly. He speaks Changmin’s name as if it’s something precious, something made only for him. And sometimes Changmin thinks maybe he has been made just for Yunho.

       He grabs Yunho’s hips and flips him onto his back, twisting his wrists and arms in a visibly uncomfortable way, but Changmin needs to look into Yunho’s eyes. Needs to be able to kiss his plush lips, mold them against his, suck that bottom lip until Yunho is panting into his open mouth. His hands move under Yunho’s thighs, hoisting his legs around his waist.

Yunho digs his heels into Changmin’s lower back and lifts his eyes up to trail over Changmin’s face, as if his gaze were a replacement for his bound hands, which often cup around Changmin’s cheeks when they touch. Yunho sometimes needs to remind Changmin that he’s there, and Changmin shouldn’t lose himself in his thoughts (“Where do you go, Changmin-ah?” Yunho often murmurs against his lips).

       Changmin sucks his fingers into his mouth and presses two against Yunho’s entrance. Yunho wiggles down against the fingers until they’re pushing inside him. His lips part, and his breathing quickens while his eyes shut. Changmin watches the way Yunho’s facial muscles tense for a moment as he relaxes, and when Yunho’s eyes open again, they’re blown with lust, but it’s a lust Changmin knows is only for him. Yunho only lets his walls down for Changmin. He only lets go for Changmin. His vulnerability belongs, like every other part of Yunho, to Changmin.

       After a few pumps of his fingers inside Yunho’s body, and after adding a third finger until Yunho is writhing desperately beneath him, his arms red and probably numb from the twisted restraints, Changmin withdraws them as Yunho whines at the loss of friction.

       Changmin brushes Yunho’s fringe back from his eyes and says, “Don’t worry, Yunho. You know I can never leave you for long.”

       And he lines himself up against Yunho’s body and eases himself into the tight heat. Changmin knows he wasn’t Yunho’s first, like Yunho was for him, but he still likes to pretend—in these moments when they’re connected as closely as two humans can be—that Yunho’s body was formed in the perfect reverse image of his. Where Changmin is solid, Yunho is the softness he needs, where Changmin is lacking, Yunho is fuller and fills up the empty spaces. Not quite like a puzzle (Changmin isn’t that cliché) but more like…like the roots of a tree buried deep in soil. Changmin isn’t sure if he’s the tree or the soil, but the specifics of the analogy aren’t important.

       Changmin doesn’t know why his mind does this when he’s around Yunho, especially with his cock deep inside him, but it does. Yunho brings him back, though, grounds him in the moment when he breathes his name again and lifts his hips to meet Changmin’s. Changmin smiles down at him and leans over to press their lips together.

       “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to stop,” he chuckles against Yunho’s lips as his hips pull back and thrust in again. Yunho tugs harder at the tied shirts, wanting desperately to touch Changmin, but Changmin doesn’t allow him. He speeds up his thrusts and sucks hard at Yunho’s neck until Yunho can do nothing but moan and rock his hips up to meet each thrust, never letting much space between their bodies.

       “Oh, what the fans will say about these bruises,” Changmin coos into his ear, nibbling on the shell as he rolls his hips in slow, torturous circles. His fingers close around the base of Yunho’s cock, and Yunho throws his head back, arching and whimpering in the voice Changmin knows Yunho has only ever used for him. Changmin’s sweaty palms slide up Yunho’s cock off-rhythm with his thrusts, but, hey, he isn’t perfect. And it isn’t like Yunho is keeping count. This isn’t a dance. This is just them, their bodies, their voices, just moving in any way they can to feel good and make the other feel good.

       And the way Yunho’s body is clenching around his erection has Changmin feeling like he’s roughly 2.5 seconds away from burning up into a black hole of overwhelming pleasure.

       “God, Yunho. God, your everything, your voice, your--. I fucking…I can’t…you…”

       Yunho just smiles weakly, lips shiny in the dim lighting (made dimmer by Changmin’s boxers on the lampshade), and he gives a soft laugh.

“My Min,” he says gruffly, body moving with Changmin’s still, cock pulsing in Changmin’s hand.

       “Yes,” Changmin says, by way of reply, as if that had been a question or a request.

       Their bodies rock together faster and more erratically for a few moments, the pleasure drawing out like a thin, tight string that they are both walking on towards each other. Not like a tightrope, since they are both waiting for the moment when the string breaks, rips beneath them, and they can fall. It’s never quite together, but that isn’t important. Falling at the same time and speed is never important as long as they both find themselves in the net at the bottom together.

       And then Yunho is pulsing harder in his hand, releasing his orgasm up over Changmin’s fingers and onto the front of his sweat-matted shirt. The waves of Yunho’s orgasm have his muscles tightening and clenching around Changmin’s cock, and Changmin can’t hold on much longer, even though he wants to pretend he could last forever buried inside Yunho.

       He comes, falling forward over Yunho’s body as he releases heat into heat. Yunho moans at the sensation, and Changmin swallows the sound with his lips, and he holds it in his chest, as if he could bring it out when he needs to, when he needs a reminder that Yunho only moans for him this way.  

       Yunho’s arms hang limply in the restraints until Changmin unties him, massaging the cold, numb flesh until Yunho shivers at the tingling, burning sensation of his blood returning to his limbs. Changmin brushes his thumbs over Yunho’s cheeks and then trails his hands down to the deep, dark bruises lining his throat and jaw.

       “Beautiful,” he says contently.

       “Yours,” Yunho adds, grinning in that way that only comes in these quiet moments after sex.

       “Don’t smile at them anymore.”

       “Can’t you tell the difference, Min? Between those smiles and the one I’m giving you now?” Yunho asks, adjusting his head on the mattress so he can better see Changmin’s face.

       “I can, but they can’t. They might think—”

       “You don’t need to care what they think, Shim Changmin. You and I know the truth. You know how I feel… YunJae fangirls be damned, you know?”

       Changmin gives a mock surprised gasp. “Did you just swear, Jung Yunho?”

       Yunho chuckles and lifts his hands to cup Changmin’s cheeks like he always does, and his palms curve so perfectly around Changmin’s jaw.

       “Maybe next time you should just look for the rabid HoMin fangirls in the audience instead.”

       Changmin scoffs. “They’re for some reason much quieter than the YunJae ones.”

       “Because they don’t need to fight, right?” Yunho says, smiling and lifting up to quickly peck Changmin’s lips, tongue darting over the bow of Changmin’s top lip. “Because they’re right.”

       Changmin quirks an eyebrow. “Though most of them think you top.”

       Yunho rolls his eyes and sits up, pushing at Changmin’s shoulders and climbing on top of him with a grin. “You would let me if I wanted to. You’d let me do anything if I moaned your name the right way.”

       Changmin tries to stoically turn his head away, but it’s a useless attempt. “You need my cock inside you, you big cockslut.”

       Yunho laughs, that dorky loud sound that Changmin adores. “I need more than just your cock. I’m a Changmin-slut.”

       Changmin snorts, and then full-out bursts into laughter, arms coiling around Yunho’s body.

       “I’m a Yunho-slut, then.”

       And then Yunho kisses him, and they keep kissing until darkness pulls their eyelids down like curtains, hiding them there in the truth that no fan really needs to know to understand them.


End file.
